


Family

by aneighthdomain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneighthdomain/pseuds/aneighthdomain
Summary: “Is this what it feels like?”“What?” she asked, petting Winta's head when the girl stirred slightly.“Family?”The night before the Mandalorian and the Child leave the Village.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 110





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> In which the Mandalorian is vulnerable as fuck. There is actually a little tiny comic out there that I unfortunately don't know the individual(s) to credit (otherwise I would include it in this post) that inspired this fic. I just couldn't get the idea of the Mandalorian holding little Baby Yoda in his arms out of my head and this is what came of it. ^_^ I do hope you enjoy!

She heard the soft, haunting melody from the well. It was late. There shouldn't have been anyone still awake. She herself was only getting water for the morning before going to bed. Winta had finally cried herself to sleep in Omera’s arms, and since they were going to need to wake early to see the Mandalorian and the child off in the morning, it seemed best to get the wash water now.

The soft crooning pulled at her until her feet were moving to the barn. It wasn’t until she was at the edge of the entrance that she realized there was an analogue static quality to the singing. The singing was...the Mandalorian.

Omera closed her eyes, leaning her side against the wall as she listened. She didn’t even notice the weight of the water bucket as she got lost in the beautiful song. She didn’t come back to herself until a moment after the melody ended. She smiled, opening her eyes and sighing. That had been lovely. She pushed away from the wall and turned to leave.

“You can come in if you want.”

Omera paused. How had he known...?

Well, nothing for it. She set the bucket down next to the door and turned back to go in, tilting her head to look through the opening. The Mandalorian sat on the pallet, his back against the wall. Over his lap lay his pulse rifle and his blaster holster was unbuckled. In his arm he held the child, who snored softly in sleep.

“Would you like to join us?” he asked.

Omera smiled. “I wouldn’t want to disturb either of you.”

“I think he’s cried himself to exhaustion,” the Mandalorian murmured, looking down at the child, then back up. “And you couldn’t disturb me.”

Omera’s smile broaded and she moved toward the pair. The Mandalorian set his pulse rifle aside and clearly left room for her to sit beside him. She hadn’t expected that, but then, it made sense. They were leaving tomorrow. Whatever happened tonight wouldn’t matter.

She settled next to him and warmed as he wrapped his arm around her middle, holding both her and the child. They sat, snuggled together, quietly listening to the child sleep.

“That was a beautiful song you were singing,” she said quietly after a while.

“It was a lullaby ,” he said just as quietly. “My father used to sing it to me when I would cry as a boy.”

"I didn’t understand the words.”

He took a breath, his chest moving under her shoulder. “It was a language my parents spoke. None of our neighbors spoke it. I don’t know where it’s from and I don’t remember much of it. Just bits and pieces . Like that song.”

She smiled a little sadly to remind him of his lost family, but also happy that he shared the memory with her. “What does it mean?”

He chuckled softly. “It doesn’t translate well. Comes out pretty nonsensical in Basic.”

She chuckled as well. “As tends to be the case when trying to translate languages with cultural relevance.”

He nodded and sighed. “It’s about a parent, feeding their children. They feed the children a particular fruit. The word doesn’t translate at all and I’ve never seen one, but when the children finish the fruit, the parent takes the seeds and plants them, telling the children that the trees will grow as they grow.”

Omera smiled, sighing contentedly and snuggling farther into him. “That sounds sweet.”

“I've always found it soothing. I guess he does, too.”

She turned her head a little to look at the child again, still snoring softly away. “It looks like,” she murmured.

Once more they slipped into an easy, restful silence. Night sounds droned on around them, lulling her toward sleep. The soft shuffling steps woke her though. They were very familiar.

“Winta?” she called softly.

The little girl stepped into view through the door, rubbing her eyes. “Mama?”

“Come here, Winta,” she called to her, keeping her voice quiet so as not to wake the other child.

Winta shuffled in, eyes barely open and crawled onto the pallet to half lay on Omera’s lap. She was instantly asleep, her soft snores harmonizing with the boy's.

Again, quiet. She couldn’t have said how much time passed. Enough that she couldn’t remember when the Mandalorian’s hand began to stroke under her forearm. Enough that it just felt right.

“Is this what it’s like?”

Omera roused a little. “Hmm?”

“Is this what it feels like?”

“What?” she asked, petting Winta's head when the girl stirred slightly.

“Family?”

Omera’s hand paused. The word sounded like it had been torn from him. Like he hadn’t really meant to ask the question, but couldn’t stop himself. She’d never heard so much vulnerability in someone’s voice before, not even in her own child’s. She smiled softly and tilted her head into his shoulder. 

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, it is.”

He was silent for a while, though his hand still moved on her arm. There was an expectancy in the silence and she waited for him to continue.

“Tell me what it would be like.” His words were so soft that she only heard him because she was so close to him. “Tell me what it would be like with us.”

Omera took a deep breath and let it out just as slowly. And she did tell him.

She told him about how they would spend their days in slow, easy, timeless moments, so that the days passing would no longer matter. She would farm the pods and he would go out hunting and trapping, just enough to see the village through the lean seasons. At night, they would put the children to bed, then go to their own bedroom and hold each other, make love and sleep in each other's arms.

As the seasons cycled they would watch the children grow, Winta faster than the boy. They would watch her care for him until she fell in love. They would watch her marry and he would dance with her as a father danced with his daughter. She would move from their home to the home of her husband and her own child would join her brother in her arms.

And the seasons would continue to cycle and they would watch their grandchildren grow alongside their son and as he aged, he would take on his father’s work. And the father would retire, spending his days with his wife, the two of them holding hands as they watched the generations of them grow to adulthood, telling their children, and the children after them, stories of far away adventures of princes and princesses and beast mounts and magic.

And then as the sunsets began for the last time, they would lay together, in each other’s arms, dreaming forever of sunsets and summers and love, together always.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said when her words ran out. “It sounds...beautiful.”

Omera smiled, moving her free hand to lace fingers with his. “It does. It’s a beautiful dream to hold on to for a long time.”

“‘Mera?” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

“Hmm?”

“Are your eyes closed?”

She nodded sleepily into his shoulder. “Mhmm.”

“Will you keep them closed for a little while?”

She furrowed her brow but nodded again, eyes shut as requested. “Alright.”

He loosened his hand from hers, pulling it back to reach behind her head. She was so tempted to open her eyes to find out what he was doing and nearly did when she heard the soft hiss and froze. The sound was followed by russling hair settling and soft scrapes of metal against unshaven cheeks and Omera’s breath came just a little faster, though she remained still, conscious of the sleeping children.

She felt him move as he set the helmet down and wrapped his arm around her again. His head moved in toward her and she felt his breath on her ear as he spoke.

“Give me your mouth?” he asked softly.

The breath she let out was a little shaky but with her eyes firmly shut she turned her head, tilting it back against his shoulder. The warm lips that touched hers were soft and reverent. Just tiny little pecks against her lips with less than a breath of space between them. Slowly she reached up with the hand that had recently been threaded with his, sliding the fingers along his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek, her thumb rubbing gently at its arch. He grew a little bolder and pressed a little more firmly into her lips.

Sighing, Omera parted her mouth. He took the invitation offered and swept gently in, the tip of his tongue touching hers lightly before sliding slowly across it. Very slowly he kissed her, completely unhurried, just as the rest of the night had been.

They never spoke any promises to each other, though their mouths promised much. And when the kiss broke it was just as slow, just as soft, just as lovely. He pressed a final kiss to her lips before reaching for his helmet and she tilted her head back down as he replaced it.

When his arm went around her again, she snuggled back into his side.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Good night.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “sleep sweet.”

And then his song started again, the one with the parent and children and the trees that grew with them. Tomorrow they would all part. But tonight, under the moon with their arms holding each other, they listened to the lullaby, falling asleep together.

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you enjoyed this fic! Remember folks, always feed and water your fic authors! Kudos are good, comments are better and the always inspirational is MAOR!


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